


(everybody's) looking for something

by obstinatrix



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Gratuitous Smut, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Power Imbalance, Red's Well-Dressed Bi Vibe, Time Travel, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-07 08:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12229017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstinatrix/pseuds/obstinatrix
Summary: Liz wasn't sure what the plan was until she saw him: Red Reddington, twenty five years younger. Then it hit her -- whatever Red wasn't telling her, he might not need to hide from a stranger.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the worst. I am the worst. Please ignore the setup and just go with it in the hopes of there being eventual porn. I have watched too much early Spader.
> 
> Rating will go up. Mind the tags.

This, Liz thought, was some Mulder and Scully shit, with an emphasis on the Mulder. When Cooper had explained the device to her, she'd thought it had to be an elaborate hoax. Always wary of becoming the butt of a joke, she'd resisted all convincing until finally he'd invited her to start the thing up and see for herself -- "But don't touch anything." 

That had sounded easy enough until the machine had begun whirring, the streets had shifted around her, and she'd found herself here, between a Blockbuster store and a call box, staring across the street at -- at _him_. 

There was no mistaking him. That face: the delicately cut features, the almost supercilious curl of the upper lip, the long blond eyelashes downswept over watchful eyes, all pupil. Reddington, but quite obviously twenty five years younger. 

"Jesus," Liz breathed. 

He was at once entirely the same and completely alien. His fair hair fell across his forehead, artfully ruffled. The usual beautifully tailored blazer was in evidence, but he wore it over blue jeans and a white t shirt with something printed on it (a t shirt! In public!). The same familiar stance, long legs crossed at the ankle as he leaned against a shop window as if the entire block belonged to him; but this was not an emperor, but a prince, his broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and his face almost androgynous in its beauty. If Liz had seen this man in a bar, her eyes would have followed him all evening. The knowledge of who he was, and would become, set her will in stone right away, damn what Cooper had said. She couldn't leave here without approaching him. 

"Waiting for someone?" She leaned against the window alongside him and smiled. The unreality of the situation made her bolder than she would ever otherwise have been -- after all, what could it hurt? 

He turned his face, one corner of his mouth crooking up in a smile. His eyes scanned her from head to toe in a fraction of a second, and then he said, quirking an eyebrow, "Not anymore." 

Oh, damn, Reddington. Damn. 

*** 

It was at this point that Liz, she would later think, went completely crazy. She didn't do things like this, never had -- she'd spent her whole life veering away from going home with probably perfectly normal guys just on the off chance that they might be axe murderers. So to let herself be picked up in the street by a man who thought she was a stranger, and whom she knew to be an ice cold criminal mastermind -- it made absolutely no sense. 

Then she looked up at his face again, the pupils so wide they made his pale eyes look dark, and forgot to worry about it. His hand traced her shoulder, the backs of his fingers brushing the curve of her neck, and she shivered. 

"You remind me of someone," he said, in that very soft voice that had become so familiar and yet which felt, in this moment, brand new. 

Katerina. She could read it all in his face: a mystery, something unfinished; a lost locket in the sand. She didn't want him thinking of Katerina now. 

"I have that sort of a face," Liz said. 

He took her to an apartment a short drive away. A black car materialised, as if by magic, to transport them, although Liz couldn't work out how Reddington had attracted the driver's attention. Throughout the drive, he cast her sidelong, thoughtful glances. Probably he thought she was working for a rival, or an enemy, but he couldn't place her; she'd thrown him, and the thought sent a flush of pleasure through her. She'd let him think himself in circles, looking for her ulterior motive. Maybe she had one -- seeing him this way, younger and a little less practised in keeping up his guard, had to yield something -- but he would never find it out. 

In the apartment, he seemed to hesitate a minute, deciding whether or not to ask the question. In his line of work, he couldn't read a pick up as a simple pick up: doubtless he'd hooked, and probably fucked, more than one person himself for the sake of a job. Eventually, he lifted his chin and said, "Well?" 

Liz swallowed. The challenge in his face seemed to call her to action.

"Get on the bed, Reddington." 

An expression of surprise fluttered across his face, there a minute and gone again, but it was more than her Red would betray. But he sat, carefully, crossing his legs and brushing an imaginary speck of dirt from the thigh of his jeans. "It seems you have the advantage of me." 

Liz laughed. "Oh, yeah. That's for sure." This was too good. How old was he, she wondered. Her own age, or maybe even a year or two younger. Red was always so buttoned up, covered throat to toe like a Victorian lady. She'd sometimes wondered why, and if there were secrets his body might betray. She weighed the thought in her mind, almost deciding against it until she saw the look on his face, placid, but one corner of his mouth beginning to curve. 

That decided her. "Strip." 

She brandished the word like a weapon. He only inclined his head graciously, as if he'd been waiting for it. His eyes held hers as he slid out of his jacket and folded it carefully. Then the t shirt, pulled artlessly over his head, leaving the golden hair ruffled and dishevelled. 

He seemed completely unperturbed, sitting there in only his jeans, but then, he had no idea who he was revealing himself to. She scanned his upper body, trying for some level of professional neutrality. Scars, some older than others, tracked here and there, and there was an unidentifiable black ink tattoo on one shoulder. It didn't tell her much, but it shocked her obscurely all the same. Red and tattoos didn't seem to go together, although she'd seen the note in his file. Apart from that, there was nothing more to distract her from the slender grace of his body itself, the wiry muscle in his chest and stomach and the curling golden hair below his collarbone. 

Shit. Professionalism, Liz. 

He caught her eye and smiled as if he'd read her mind. He thumbed open the button of his jeans and lifted his hips; her throat went dry as she realised there was nothing in the way of underwear beneath. He wriggled the opened jeans down over his hips with the sinuous grace of a stripper, an evident _piece de resistance_ , and then leaned back smugly on his hands, legs spread, kicking off the tangle of denim along with his loafers. The look on his face said, clearly, that he thought he'd called her bluff. 

Liz cleared her throat. That couldn't stand. She had to say something, even if her attention was currently captivated between the smirk on his face and the casual confidence with which he displayed himself, pale thighs spread and cock rising up out of its thatch of fair hair. Jesus. 

"Um." Poor start, Liz. "I--" 

He let her stammer for a minute, and then held out his hand. "Come on, sweetheart. You don't have to play the big bad wolf like you have an agenda. If you just wanted to fuck me, that's easily achieved."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't look at me.

Something about the phraseology made her thrill to the pit of her gut. _If you just want to fuck me--_ His language acknowledged Liz as the aggressor, Red as the one being _done to_ , and the thought made her tense pleasantly between the legs, despite the cocky look on Reddington's face. She could wipe that off in a hot second, she thought now, and she'd enjoy it, too.

The surge of adrenaline made her bold, and she kicked off her boots, kneeling up onto the bed. He leaned back instinctively, and she pushed him, planting her hands on the mattress above his shoulders as he reclined under her invasion. 

"Oh yeah?" This close, his eyes were complicated and blue. His mouth looked soft. She turned her face, enough that his breath ghosted warm over the curve of her jaw. She closed her eyes, briefly. "Do you want that?" 

The captivating eyes, black with pupil, blinked lazily, and she felt herself slick at the sight. "Honestly, I want anything you'd care to give me." 

It was a line, but there was sincerity in it. She knew him well enough to read that, and the knowledge made her jaw throb with the desire to kiss him, to press in and take and devour and _give_. Instead, she forced herself to take a moment; compose herself. What did she really want, here? What secrets could she dredge from his depths? 

"What can I call you?" 

His voice caught her by surprise, low and heated. The words were so carefully chosen, she couldn't help but bow to his skill. 

"Beth," she said. Beneath her, his face was upturned, all angles. His body was pale and freckled, his hands held carefully away from her, as if awaiting permission. His mouth, the same mouth that had caught her eye in less appropriate moments, was slightly parted, the slick inside glistening darkly. 

Liz closed her eyes, leaned in, and kissed him. 

He tasted exactly as she'd expected. That was the strangest thing, that so much should have changed, and yet the cavern of his mouth still tasted of toothpaste and his signature cigars, the curve of his lips yielding to hers. Between her thighs, he squirmed slightly, evidently trying not to, and Liz bit her cheek in amusement, feeling the power of her position rush through her like lightning. 

"Stop."

When she pulled away, his eyes went wild, almost despairing. She felt bad enough to throw him a brief look of consolation before her hands went to the waistband of her jeans, and the tortured eyes went wide again, watching her lift herself up and peel them off, underwear and all. 

"Beth," he said. His voice had dropped two octaves. She almost wished she'd given him her real name after all, but then, couldn't she be Beth just as well? Liz couldn't do this, wouldn't dare. Beth, on the other hand, was happy enough to take a breath and press his bare cock flat to his belly; wanton enough to straddle him again in only her shirt and press herself down on him, enveloping his length in the heated slickness between her legs.

"Oh--God--" 

He reared up beneath her, and Liz caught herself panting in response. The look on his face was gorgeous, breathtaking; she rocked herself forward against him and felt his cock slide wetly against the core of herself, rubbing against her clit. His brow furrowed in a way that suggested an expectation of more, and she half laughed, grinding herself firmly down against him. _No, Red,_ I'm _fucking_ you, _remember?_

"Beth--Beth--" His slender hands shifted to her hips, and she allowed the grip, bruising though it was. The sight of him, splayed like this between her spread thighs, sent want shivering through her in waves, and the way his cock slid over her clit with every swivel of her hips was driving her to distraction. She could quite happily have rubbed herself off against him like this, had the hands on her hips not tightened with intent, pulling. 

"Beth, come here. Come up here." 

Another tug, and he opened his mouth, let his tongue curl sweetly against his lower lip. Liz would have had to be dead to resist the invitation. She swallowed, nodded, and let him pull her up over his chest, up to his shoulders. Once there, she hesitated, but he only crooked an eyebrow at her and tugged, pulling her down by the thighs until his upturned mouth was flush between. 

"That's it...come here...come here…" 

The soft voice lulled her down. His hands gripped her, spread her; the next she knew was his kiss between her legs and his soft sigh of satisfaction. She could feel how open she was for him, spread like the petals of a flower, and when he mouthed at her, curled his tongue against the sensitive extremities of her labia, she shuddered against him, fingers finding purchase in his hair. 

"Red--" 

She bit back the word, blushing, but Red only hummed against her, his intrigued laughter evident from the muffled sound alone. His tongue traced the length of her, skirting her clit and curling down to probe the sensitive entrance to her cunt, and Liz bit her lip on a cry, rolling herself against his face, the press of his nose against her clit.

"Oh, god, oh god--" 

It was at times like this--as if there had often been times like this!--that Liz most regretted her inability to be silent in bed. But Red was eating at her with such urgent abandon, his tongue fucking into her until her muscles spasmed around it, then pulling back to circle her clit; and then again, over and over until her thighs ached with the tension of it. She half felt that she should pull back, let him breathe, but he seemed completely content with his face between her thighs, slick with her wetness, and it was only natural to rock against him, move her pelvis against his generous mouth until he sealed his lips around her clit, and sucked, and _sucked_ , and-- _oh_ \--

"Oh, Jesus!" 

She cried out, feeling the climax break over her in waves, seizing her up from the inside as she ground down onto him. Her cunt took up a spasmodic clenching, as if trying to milk the pleasure from her depths, and beneath her, Red only groaned and sighed, the blond lashes fluttering with pleasure. When Liz could finally open her eyes again, his perfect freckled cheekbones glistened with her slick, and she allowed herself a moment to drink in the sight. 

When she moved, his hand went instantly to support her, as if to lay her down against his side, and something in her weakened at the gentlemanly gesture. But his cock was still hard, curved up against the shallow of his stomach, and Liz (she reasoned) had only taken her own pleasure from him. Who was to say what he might say on the brink of his own climax? 

She shifted backward, eyes on his as she wriggled her hips and brought them back in line with his. Sweat had gathered between her breasts, her shirt an encumbrance, and she moved to pull it over her head, the bra a moment later, heat surging somewhere behind her navel at the look on his face as her tits spilled free. 

"Here…" She wrapped a hand around his cock, and took a moment to breathe through the unreality of it. Her hand, on Red's straining cock, already wet with her slick. His eyes had fluttered closed; his narrow hips tilted towards her, clearly in anticipation of a compensatory hand job. It was a good sized cock, firm and hot in her hand, and Liz didn't want to waste the opportunity. Whatever Red thought he had on her in their own time, she could always hold this over him: _I took you inside me._

She lifted herself, steadying him with one hand, and did so.


	3. Chapter 3

He breathed in sharp and sudden through his teeth, his fingers tensing on her hips, and Liz felt, under and around the thick pressure of him inside her, a wave of warmth--almost affection. The gesture was so familiar, the little furrow between his brows and the way he held his mouth, slightly open; why had she ever thought Red inexpressive? He was guarded, certainly, and his unblinking gaze could pin a man like a butterfly to a board; but beyond that, he had infinite little idiosyncrasies of expression, curls of the lip and flickers of the eyes. It was so obvious to her now, seeing the same expressions on the younger face. She thought of his smile, that revelation of white teeth that still made him beautiful, and suddenly wanted nothing more than to see it. 

Beneath her, he was tense with the strain of holding still, awaiting her direction, and her body flushed at the realisation. There was a carefulness to Red, a certain inborn courtesy; it made her, she could now admit, feel warm in general, but now--God. She rolled her hips, slow, and watched his eyelashes dip and his mouth open. 

"Beth--" His voice half-broke on the word and his hand slid from her hip to her waist, brushing the underside of her breast. The skin felt sensitised under his touch and she clenched around him without meaning to, a rush of wetness throbbing in her cunt. She pushed down onto him insistently, chasing the swell of pleasure, and he groaned beneath her, his hand shifting to cup her breast fully, squeezing. 

"Oh, fuck." She wanted to watch him--that, after all, was the entire point of all of this--but somehow it seemed imperative to squeeze her eyes shut, focus on the push of him inside her and his hands on her body. "Oh God, yeah, like that--touch my--" 

His thumb went to her nipple unprompted, rubbing there, and she bit back a cry, hips bucking, a spark of pleasure jolting from breast to clit, electric. It felt urgent now to rock against him, riding him, a ripple of muscles beginning in her cunt, and his breath was coming fast beneath her as she moved, fucking herself on his cock. 

"That's it--just like--" 

She tried to bite the words back, stay silent, wait for _him_ to speak, but it went against every inclination in her body as she moved on him like this, grinding down on him in hard, close motions that kept him held deep in her body and rubbed her clit insistently against his stomach. His hand was warm and sure on her breast, kneading at it, thumbing at the nipple, and she could feel the slow build of a second climax like a wave of colour growing inside her, like a tiny sun growing brighter and more intense. 

"Oh God, Beth." 

That was it, she thought dimly: the threadiness of his voice; the vulnerability of it; when she opened her eyes, he glowed beneath her with a fine sheen of sweat, eyes black and dazed. He looked stunned, hips pushing up against hers in abortive little needy motions, and when she took his supporting hand from her thigh, he let her move it, obedient, to her clit. 

"Jesus --" 

Her head fell back; the confluence of sensations made it impossible to keep her eyes open. His hips jerked spasmodically as her cunt set up a series of steady clenches, and she could hear him whimpering now, almost keening in his throat. She was close; she could feel it behind her teeth, under her tongue, and he felt so perfect inside her, filling her; the pressure of his fingers circling quick on her clit and then his cry as his body arched, cock pulsing--

"Fuck!" 

Not his name--anything but that, although the word had been ready in her mouth as her body tensed, seizing up on him as she began to come, and loosening only after a long moment, when the quivers of heat had begun to ebb from her, leaving a buzz in her ears. The muscles in her back and thighs felt suddenly liquid, too weak to hold her upright. When she opened her eyes at last, he seemed to know, raising his hands to guide her down on top of him. 

It felt natural, then, to kiss him, to nuzzle his sweat-damp cheek and lick into his mouth, lips and tongues moving lazily together. The kiss had a certain slack, post-coital easiness that Liz loved, her lower lip sensitive to every brush of Red's tongue, the over-sexed nerves tingling. God, he was fucking good at this. His hand slid up her spine, into her hair, and the slight scratch of his nails set up a vibration all down her back that made her hiss and move her hips against his. 

He broke away, reluctantly, laughing. Laughing: God, he was gorgeous when he laughed, his white teeth a perfect curve and his eyes bright with it. Liz couldn't even chastise herself for the thought. 

"What, again? Tell me: who really sent you? Are you here to kill me with overexertion?" 

His eyes held hers, warm and blue, while the hand on her back crooked between her legs and he curled two fingers through her slick, deftly avoiding the over-sensitive clit to press inside her. Liz laughed despite herself, meeting his eyes, and he smiled back, the gentle motions of his fingers sparking a low residual heat within her, although she didn't think the fire could be roused again so soon. 

"Um, no." She kissed him again, let herself bite the curve of his lower lip before she pulled away. "I mean, you can do that if you want, but, too soon. How would you like it if I started fingering you thirty seconds after a killer orgasm?" 

His mouth quirked, one eyebrow rising to meet it. "To be frank with you, I'd respect you for taking the initiative. Most women don't." Slowly, he withdrew his hand, bringing it to his mouth, and Liz felt an unanticipated spark in her gut as he sucked his fingers clean. He looked at home like that, eyeing her under the long pale lashes with his cheeks hollowed, and she wondered suddenly how far Red had gone for a job--or a joy-ride. 

"You like that?"

Red shrugged elaborately. "Men who say they don't are simply too pedestrian to have tried, in my experience." 

The wondering quickened. Liz let her hand slide down Red's stomach and thrilled when he opened his thighs easily for her, holding her gaze as she lifted herself for better leverage and palmed his half-hard cock, then his balls; then lower. 

On an impulse, she shifted, making the angle easier; he spread his knees languidly as she resettled herself between his legs, and her pulse throbbed in her throat at the opportunity this presented. His cock curved up against his flat belly, and his pale thighs were spread far enough to display a glimpse of the dark place between. Liz bit her lip, dipped two fingers into the slick between her own legs, and then touched them, exploratory, to the hidden space between Red's thighs.

Delightfully, he jerked; Liz made no attempt to conceal her smile. "You like this?" 

The tight pucker twitched against her fingers. She circled, then again, waiting for some yield. He nodded tightly, and Liz caught her breath, pushed herself to ask the telling question. 

"You let guys do this to you?" 

Another tight nod, and Liz's whole body went flush with heat at the thought of it: Red, like this, spread out on some huge man's bed, taking his cock. The tip of her index finger slipped inside, and Red sucked in a sharp breath, hips lifting. 

"You let them fuck you?" 

Thrash on the pillows. Red's knees came up, toes pressing into the mattress, and Liz couldn't miss the way his thighs loosened, his entire body opening itself to her touch. "Mmm," was all he managed; Liz imagined her own Red would have had more to say on the subject. 

Another finger, pushing in alongside the first, and his head fell back, white teeth kneading at his soft lower lip. 

"You want me to fuck you?" Liz felt strange, saying the words: powerful, and even more so when he nodded and said, blue eyes on the opposite wall--

"God, yes. Fuck me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were only meant to be three chapters, but apparently I just can't stop writing idfic about fucking young James Spader 
> 
> Sorry 
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr @ scurator if you feel my pain


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Entirely pointless extended scene of Red getting fingerfucked to within an inch of his life. I would say "skippable", but anyone attempting to read this for the "plot" has probably only had two and a half sentences to be going with over the entire duration of the damn thing, so.

She'd done this before, in principle--there'd been some experimentation, in several directions, in college--but principle wasn't going to help her here, because the way Liz felt right now was like nothing on earth. She crooked her fingers, testing, and he hissed, curving one arm up over his head; he wasn't hard, but he could get there again without much effort, she could tell. Another shallow thrust, and he bit his lip, looking down at her through long lashes, hips lifting; _Jesus_. The impenetrable Raymond Reddington, opening under her fingers: suddenly, fiercely, she wanted to fuck him so hard he'd beg her for it; wanted to get her hands inside him and touch every secret he kept there. 

Her jeans were still thrown over the end of the bed, the little circular tin of Vaseline in the pocket to fend off chapped lips and papercuts. She curved one arm back to get it, and he made a gratifying small sound of protest, then silenced himself immediately, as if ashamed. 

She turned back to him, prize in hand, and smiled. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm not abandoning you." 

He saw the tin and laughed. "Girl scout, hm?" 

"Oh yeah," Liz said, scooping a dollop of Vaseline from the tin and applying it deftly, "they do this _all_ the time." She met his eyes, amused, and they smiled at one another for a moment, his gaze assessing and thoughtful, intrigued. 

"Spread your legs," Liz said. "Wider." 

His breath hitched, the muscles in his stomach tensing. "Yes, ma'am," he said, and obliged.  


This time, when she pushed in, it was easier, the hot tight clutch of his body giving way to the pressure of her fingers. His hips lifted, seeking, and she breathed through the wave of heat that hit her at the sight of it, her fingers moving slickly in and out of him, his cock beginning to fill. 

"You can do it harder," Red said, and his voice was low and thick. "Go hard or go home, as they say." 

He arched an eyebrow, still cocky like this with the sex-flush spreading down his chest, and Liz had to laugh, pushing her fingers deep with a firm motion of the forearm that made him gasp, thighs jerking. 

"Reddington," she told him slowly, "I'm starting to think you're a little bit of a slut." 

"Now, is that any way to speak to a man when you're doing this to him?" He reached down, cupped the back of her head, tugged a little. "Come up here. Please. Kiss me." 

The angle was less good this way, but she couldn't resist the look on his face, the flushed pink mouth and the black-blown eyes. She straddled his thigh, aware that he could surely feel her slick against him, and he groaned as she leaned down to kiss him, biting at his mouth. 

His hips rocked languidly at first, matching the motions of her arm; she tongued at his mouth and he whimpered and the surrealness of it all struck her over again. To have Reddington, like this, at her mercy-- _Reddington_. 

There was so much she wanted to ask him, so much she should be trying to coax out of him, exploiting the opportunity. Instead, she worked a third finger into his body and felt him spasm around her, a low hot sound emerging from his throat, demanding. 

"Oh, Beth," he managed, breathless, "Harder, sweetheart. Fuck me harder." 

She could almost have come again from the tone of his voice, the way his eyebrows pulled together and the look of something close to pain on his face. Her arm was beginning to ache, but that seemed a secondary consideration, now that he was rocking himself onto her fingers and it clearly wasn't his first time on his back like this, not even close. 

"You do this a lot?" she breathed in his ear, finding his prostate with her fingertips and pressing down hard enough to feel him shudder. "What do you like?" 

His tongue flickered over his dry lower lip and he pressed his eyes shut for a moment, breath catching. "What--what you like, seemingly." He was panting, cock hard and drooling slick in the dip of his navel, and the muscles in his stomach were rigid with urgency. "A worthy opponent." His eyes opened for a minute, meeting hers, sly, before she twisted her fingers and he closed them again, biting his lip. "More candidly, being kissed. Fucked diligently. Eaten out by someone who--oh, God--who loves to do it."  


"Just the usual, then," Liz managed, and he half-laughed and then moaned, muscles gripping her fingers so tightly it almost hurt. 

"Kiss me." He tipped up his face, seeking; she met his mouth and rubbed the heel of her hand over his cock and he made a sound like dying. Liz's arm was trembling as she fucked him, pistoning her fingers in and out of him, his body intermittently slackening and tightening around the intrusion until he surged up and bit her lip and she moaned into his mouth, his come a sudden shock of wet heat across her forearm.

"Oh," he breathed, falling back on the pillows: "Oh, God. Oh." His body was trembling finely, all over, and while Liz had never been able to come more than twice in succession, she couldn't seem to stop rubbing herself against his thigh, rapt at the expressions flickering over his face. 

"You like it that way best?" She rubbed a thumb over the pink bud of his nipple, unable to resist, and he hissed and laughed and recoiled, opening his eyes to look at her. 

"Never turn your back, Beth," he rasped out, panting like a long distance runner. "That's my mantra. It's a good one, believe me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will notice that Red has not, at any point, turned his back to Liz. GOODNESS ME, I WONDER WHY.


	5. Chapter 5

Liz laughed, feeling the pulse of it in her throat as her body thrummed still with the force of him, of their coupling. 

"I've heard that somewhere before," she said. 

Red looked at her, his gaze soft, his eyes warm and blue. 

"I don't know if I trust you, sweetheart--no offence intended, I assure you. But I'm glad you came home with me, all the same." 

He rolled slowly onto his side, arching his back as if stretching, and Liz tracked the motions of his long limbs, the curvature of his slender muscled body. Her Red, she couldn't quite picture this way: he had thickened somewhat, and the way he moved was less graceful, differently elegant. Watching the young Red curve his body this way was a treat all its own.

It wasn't until he pulled himself upright that her breath caught. 

It hadn't occurred to Liz until this moment that, however much she might have seen of Red, he had never, as he said, turned his back to her. The fact had seemed immaterial--until now. 

The superficial scars on his torso had been interesting to her when she had first sighted them. By comparison to what she now saw on his back, they paled into insignificance. 

Red, quite clearly, had suffered through some conflagration. 

His back was a mess scarred from shoulderblades to waist. The scarring had thickened the skin in such a way that the cause was unmistakable, and Liz felt her breath catch in her throat, seeing it. It was ugly, certainly, but it wasn't that which pulled her up short; she liked to think she wasn't so shallow. No: it was the thought of the fire itself, and what had brought Red there; the thought of the fire she remembered herself. 

Her hand crept out despite itself, touching the lower curve of his shoulderblade, where the scarring began-- 

"What happened here?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tiny bit just to assure I haven't forgotten!


End file.
